Stranded
by rough-em-up-ressler
Summary: After busting the latest Blacklister, partners Elizabeth Keen and Donald Ressler are on their way back when they encounter travel problems... set sometime in the future after 1x22 - A Keenler fanfic
1. Evening Troubles

**_Beep._**

'I don't fucking _believe_ this!'

Leaning on other side of the van, Elizabeth Keen is jolted upright as the metal body of the vehicle shudders. She jumps away before her partner, Donald Ressler, can strike another violent blow against the hood.

'I'm going to assume it's not good news' She smiles wearily, running a balmy hand through her hair.

'Well we're stuck here until morning, so forgive me for not exactly being delighted' He shoves his phone into pocket with aggression and marches past her. Liz winces as the double doors of the van clang open. Someone's in a bad mood. There's a rattling inside the van, things being dropped and broken.

'We're the fucking F.B.I' comes the low growl, as Ressler marches back out of the van, not even looking at her. A metal black box is held taut in his fist. 'We have _helicopters_'

Out comes a heavy wrench, plunged deep into the workings of the vehicle.

'Don, are you sure you know what you're-' Liz looks up just in time to see the wrench come springing back towards Ressler at an unmanageable force, having dislodged what she could only assume was a vital part of the engine's machinery. It flicks out of his hand, striking him on the forehead.

'_Son_ of a-' the rest of Ressler's cursing is drowned out by the noise of Liz's laughter.

'Well done, Agent Ressler.' She gulps in a fresh breath of air before launching into hysterical laughter again.

Something within him softens slightly, as he rubs at the red mark on his forehead.

'I never was good at this kind of thing in training' he admits, looking at the van now with more amusement than contempt.

'There it is Don, that beautiful smile' Liz teases, drawing her words out long and sarcastic, enjoying a good laugh at him from time to time.

'Yeah, yeah, so funny.' He loosens the knot in his tie, stretching out the collar of his shirt in an attempt to cool off, 'I hope that keeps you entertained all night, Liz, because there's not much else to do while we're stuck out here.'

At this point, Liz takes a good look at her surroundings- late June in a woodland area might as well be the Tropics, for the heat and humidity- and the bugs, oh Jesus, they were everywhere. She didn't even need to turn around to know they were taking a shine to Donald, the sound of him slapping himself silly and cursing even more frequently was confirmation enough.

'I'll be in the van if you need me' was the strained response to this, and sure enough, the slamming of a door came only seconds later.

Liz smiled subconsciously, glad that of all people, she was stuck out here with Donald Ressler.

-~-~-.-~-~-

After a long hour of sulking, Ressler began to wonder why the hell he was still sitting in the van while Liz was outside. Since she'd come to his apartment to tell him about Tom, he'd barely had any time alone with her. Too much was in the way- being together in any capacity felt like somehow betraying Meera, and he was still grieving for Audrey.

Besides, he was hardly the kind of guy that would just phone up and ask her to hang out with him, but he liked being around Liz and he wanted her to be okay. She'd never signed up for any of the shit that had happened to her and he admired how she managed to get through it while still forcing a smile.

He didn't have the will nor the energy to work out why, but he knew for sure that being out there with Liz, even if it meant being eaten alive by midges, beat being in here by himself- and that was ok.

Her suit jacket was on the ground, and she was propping herself up by her arms, allowing the waning sun to shine on her skin, her head turned to face the last rays, soaking them in.

'Trust you to find a silver lining in all of this.' He grumbled. Why did he grumble? He hadn't meant to sound so irritable! What the hell was with this constant self-sabotage?

Liz just smiled. Was it possible that was something she liked about him? _Why_?

'I've got to warn you' she sat up, slowly, massaging her stiffened elbows 'The bugs are still here to feast on you, and they've brought friends.'

'I know, I can already feel them sucking the life out of me.' He shuddered, removing his own suit jacket and laying it on the ground beside her.

'Did you look in the emergency box for insect repellent?'

He laughs, 'So many times. I can promise you, there's none to be found.'

She returns his laugh, stopping abruptly as he reaches down to sit next to her. 'Oh crap. Ressler, your forehead.' She reaches out and turns his chin with a delicate touch.

He blinks quickly, recoiling a little. It's been months since anyone has touched him with such femininity or tenderness. It's been months since Audrey died in his arms.

She opens her mouth to explain it away but closes it; unable to think of anything that won't just make things worse.

He touches the side of his head, where he'd hit himself with the wrench. 'It's nothing' he shrugs, graciously ignoring the previous few moments for the sake of them both.

She winces. 'I feel a little bad for laughing.'

He grins, 'A little bad? You did laugh _a lot_'

And then she's laughing again, relieved that they moved on so quickly, 'No, no you're right. I should make it up to you. I'll make dinner.'

She leans over and offers him two blue-labeled tins. 'Pineapple or pear?'

'Pear, definitely. Ew.' He nods at the tin in her left hand.

She lifts a can opener out of the emergency kit and removes the metal top, peering inside.

'Ew indeed. Bon appetite!' she laughs, glad of his decision, amused by his constant misfortune and hands him his can, getting to work on her own.

Ressler studies her intently, his mind going back to what had happened only moments before. He shouldn't have pushed her away, that would only lead her to think that he was reading into it more than he should have been, that he believed she meant something by it. He wasn't sure what he believed- and that didn't just go for Liz. Since Raymond Reddington surrendered to the F.B.I his ideas of right and wrong, enemy and ally, happiness and loneliness had been shaken beyond understanding.

'It's getting darker' he comments, 'is there a flashlight in there?'

Liz fumbles for the torch, clicking it on. 'There.'

They sit for a few moments, and he's not quite sure of what to say. She keeps touching her ring finger, looking to adjust what is no longer there. Don gives in at this, and asks her something he'd been wanting to for a while.

'Liz?'

'Yeah?' she turns away from the sunset, and is caught in it.

'When you first started working at the bureau, what did you think of me?'

She laughs, 'Why does it matter?'

'Humour me' he shrugs, 'it doesn't I guess, but I always thought you hated me.'

'Hate's a bit strong' she looks at the ground. 'You were hardly my favorite person though.'

Still watching her closely, he asks quietly, 'When did you change your mind?'

She looks ready to tease him, or make another joke but her face changes quickly, realising that he was serious. 'I was under review- it went against everything you knew but still you broke the rules and let me in to see Red in hospital after I stabbed the pen in his neck. You've broken quite a few rules for me.'

After speaking, Liz notices the sun is completely gone now, the trees shadowy

'You were upset about Tom, it was the least-' he stops short, regretting having mentioned her ex-husband.

She shakes her head, 'No, it's okay. I'm fine.' But her eyes don't leave the ground.

Ressler's eyes don't leave Liz. He shuffles closer to her, casting his arm around her and bringing her in so her head rests on his shoulder.

'Don, I'm fine.' She protests, but doesn't struggle.

'I know you're fine! I'm just cold.'

'Cold my ass, you're just using me as a human barrier between you and the bloodsucking midges.'

He smiles, his hand smoothing over her hair comfortingly. It's momentary but there's a slight irregularity in his heart rate- not that it means anything, it's probably that weird canned food beginning to kill him, or his heart adjusting to a loss of blood from the damn insects. It's not feelings, not emotions. Not for his friend Liz.

'You caught me out. I'm guilty' he smiles, resting his head on top of hers, feeling for the first time in so long like he's not completely empty.


	2. Night Terrors

**A/N: This next chapter is a bit darker and more serious than the one before. It's also pretty rough on Keenler. But I promise you, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, or less metaphorically, the next chapter.**

They had both agreed that she would go first, getting changed in the van. She was going to wear her shirt, use her jacket as a pillow and cover herself over with one of those foil shock blankets from the emergency kit stored in every F.B.I van.

She hadn't asked what his sleeping arrangements were.

Ressler had gotten slightly edgier as it got darker- they'd spent the last hour or so talking over the safe topics- Ressler's college life, training disasters; she'd shared with him the story about Red, Dembe and the Shakira incident - and although he had refused to believe it, he'd found it funny- but as a profiler she could tell that something was amiss. Maybe it was just her. Her professional judgment was always askew when it came to Don.

There. She was done. Leaning her head out the van she yells,  
'Don? You can come and-'  
There he was, having already changed out of his shirt, standing in his suit trousers, leaning down to pick up his suit jacket.  
'Oh.'

He looks up, trying to keep his face neutral. This is normal, he thinks pointedly, this kind of thing happens all the time between partners. Maybe.  
He just had to adjust to seeing Liz with so much… skin.

'Um, no, it's ok- I'm sorted.'

'Yeah. Ok.' She nods, avoiding looking at him, and climbs back into the van. He follows behind and sits on the edge, between the open doors, to take off his shoes.  
'You know, Liz. I never thought I'd say this…'  
'What?' She climbs under her shock blanket  
'…but I wish Raymond Reddington was here.' He grimaces, unable to believe he just admitted this.  
Liz grins, 'Why, do you think he'd be a better mechanic than you?'

He spins inwards, shoes in hand and crawls under his own foil blanket, a safe meter-distance from Liz's,  
'Probably. It wouldn't be hard,' he laughs, 'likely he'd know some forest-dwelling psydo-genuis that he could pay to fix things for him.'  
Liz nods, even though he's shutting the doors now, and can't see her for the darkness. 'That sounds like Red. I can't believe you just said that- about wanting him here.'

'For practical purposes only, Liz.'

She gasps jokingly, 'You _miss_ him'

'I survive the weekends, don't I?'

'I'm telling him.' She decides, with a gleeful laugh

'Don't you dare!' he groans, he'll never hear the end of this. 'Liz?'

Silence. 'Liz?'

'…I'm sleeping.' She mumbles, wanting to have had the last word.  
He smiles; despite her joking she does sound exhausted. Relenting, he adds only 'Night Liz,'

'Night Don.' She yawns contentedly.  
Once he knows she's asleep, he rolls over to face the other direction.

Now, to face the hard part.

-~-~-.-~-~-

Sleep was a labyrinth of terror and pain for Ressler. Every time he closed his eyes and let lethargy pull him under, he was thrown to one of two equally cruel fates: a dream, or a nightmare.

A dream, where Audrey lived- maybe they were watching the television together, or at dinner again, or Tassels shows up but she still chooses him, saying 'Don' in that way which was shorthand for 'I love you, Don.'  
Often it would be things that never actually happened, Audrey a Blacklister, and he has to protect her from Reddington, who mistakenly believes she is a criminal.

And then there are the things that maybe could have happened… they have children, a girl and a boy. He never remembers their names when he wakes up, but he knows he loves them- he misses them during the day, he has to keep reminding himself they won't be there when he gets home. And she won't be there either. And he wakes up with an idiot's smile and turns to the empty, ghost's space beside him on the bed, and then his smile fades and he's battering the pillow until the feathers are all gone.

And then the nightmares- where she dies, and she dies again. She dies in jarred, sickening remixes of her death- sometimes she is crying, howling and plunging that long sword into herself, much like Bobby Jonica.  
Other times she's screaming at him, because it's his fault and he's trying to hold her, trying to staunch her gunshot wound, but she's clawing at his face, desperately wanting to somehow even the score.  
There's one, on the bridge- and she's shouting out for him, pleading for his help and he can hear her but he can't see her, he can't think straight enough to work out where her cries are coming from. Before he knows it, her body lands in front of him, fallen from above, it was above him the whole time.

He keeps letting her die, he can never save her.

He wakes up screaming her name, in a cold sweat, but with that little piece of bitter hope that it was only a bad dream, and she's still there.

It was a very small van. The last thing he wanted was for Liz to witness the sad specimen of a man that he became at night. If she saw him that way, there would be no going back. This was what had made him react so strongly to the situation. A night in the woods he could handle- but only now he was afraid of the dark.

Fighting sleep had become a talent of his. But he'd done it last night, and the night before and a third night running was going to be a stretch. He lies there, stubbornly, squarely, staring up at the ceiling with no idea where it actually is; everything within the van is black.

Eventually he can't tell the difference between having his eyes open, and having them closed.

-~-~-.-~-~-

On the other hand, Elizabeth Keen was _so _done with nightmares. Despite her old recurring dreams of fires and faceless fathers, she had way too much shit to be getting on with in her real life to bother with a fear of fantasy, or a fear of the past.

She'd learned that fake husbands, Blacklisters, dead partners and mysterious adversaries were far more terrifying, but by the end of each day she was so sick of them all being in her head, by sheer force of will, there was no way in hell they were dominating her only chance to rest.

Although he is at least two arm's length away, Ressler's presence is a refreshing difference for Liz. She was beginning to wonder if she'd ever trust someone enough to let them that close to her while she was defenseless. And yet here she was, not even doubting the situation… Ressler is her partner, an extension of herself and, although it is only just occurring to her, he's her best friend. She doesn't have any others… Red is her friend, she supposes, but everything with him is so complicated- anyone from her life pre-Red doesn't count, they don't understand, they live in a simpler world. Ressler understands, he's lived the whole thing with her.  
She sleeps soundly; from the moment she closes her eyes.

-~-~-.-~-~-

**_Bang!_**

She's awake first- poised, ready for confrontation. She looks around, bewildered- what's going on?

_'__Audrey!' _

It's Ressler, writhing around wildly on the floor of the van.

'_Audrey! Please, Audrey!' _ His voice is laden with pain and urgency.

Liz is over in an instant.  
'Don! Wake up, wake up, you're dreaming!' She grips his arm tightly, but he fights out of it.

_'__Audrey! Where are you? Please, just tell me where you are!' _

Jesus. She closes her eyes tightly. This is awful. She tries to grab him by the shoulder, hold him still enough so that he wakes up, but he struggles away again.

_'__Oh, god, oh my god- Audrey, stay with me. Please, please.'_

For the first time, Liz understands what it was like for Ressler, on that bridge with Tanida.

And she feels the most unexpected of emotions- jealousy.  
She shot her husband, and left him for dead. All in a day's work. She never got to kiss goodbye the man she loved, because he wasn't real.

He cries out; at first, loud and guttural, reminiscent of the way he screamed as Reddington burned the gunshot wound in his leg… and then it fades to a whimper,

_'__Oh my god, Audrey. What have I done, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry,'_

This time Liz won't be defeated, she clings to him as he tries to fight her off, an arm wrapped around his torso, her leg entwined with his. She takes up a fistful of his hair, trying desperately to hold on as he kicks at her, eyes still shut, mouth still open in a scream.

And then he stops, unmoving. Liz breathes out, relieved. She slides a hand down his face, wiping the sweat from his brow as she pulls back, unwinding from him.

But he clasps her hand.

Pulls her closer.

'Audrey. Thank god. I had the worst dream.' He pulls Liz tighter. She freezes.

'I thought I'd lost you.' He croaks, leaning his head on her shoulder, stroking her hair.

Liz can't move. She's never experienced this before. Tom couldn't fake this kind of dependence, this kind of adoration. She'd never felt _cherished_ in this way. Loved. She'd never truly been loved. This excites her and terrifies her, for all the wonderful things she's yet to discover… and for the possibility that she might never discover them at all. She's processing this, numb, when he plants a kiss on her collarbone.

It jolts her back to reality.

'Don,' She whispers. 'No, Don, it's me.' She uncoils from his grasp, twisting away from him.

His head snaps up, and the nightmare returns to him tenfold. Nothing could have prepared Liz for the utterly crestfallen expression upon his face. He's crushed, and then all at once infuriated.

'Fuck.' He gets to his feet, braces his head in his hands, facing away, unable to look at her.

He shoots a look over his shoulder and turns away again, sickened.

'Don.' She looks at the ground, tracing the scar on her palm. 'Don, I didn't- '

'Don't Liz, just don't.' He grimaces, banging his hand against the metal interior of the van, with it swaying side-to-side in rebuttal. He punches again, gritting his teeth. Liz flinches.

Leaning forward he hammers the panel door open, not bothering with handles. Liz gathers herself up from the ground and puts a hand out on his shoulder to stop him.

'Don-'

'Get the _fuck_ away from me, Keen. Ok?' and with that, he's out of the van, slamming the door behind him, while the whole thing shakes and shudders, as Liz is rattled around inside feeling sick, sick to her very core.


	3. Daylight Tactics

A bleary-eyed Elizabeth Keen opens her eyes. She hadn't been able to get any sleep.  
In truth, she never even tried.

She checks her watch… eight minutes ago she had decided to try and get some rest, but now it seemed more sensible to just get dressed… Donald had been gone for five hours… and if he wasn't back before the end of the next two, she'd rather be explaining this to her colleagues with pants on, rather than off.  
But what would she possibly tell them anyway?

She climbs out of the van and shoves her feet into her shoes, calling 'Don?'

Where _is_ he? She wonders, absentmindedly pushing concerns about insect bites, and the fact that his shirt was still in the van, discarded out of her mind only to hear his parting words over, and over, and over.

_Get the fuck away from me, Keen._

Although her concern for Ressler's safety won out, and she wanted him back at the van as soon as possible, she couldn't help but feel relieved that with every passing moment, she didn't have to face him. Again she wonders about heading off to find him, but he could be anywhere by now, and it was a stupid idea to leave the van, in case help came early, or he returned while she was gone.

She runs soft fingertips over her collarbone, disgusted at herself all the while. She is so confused. But one thing is certain to her… her friend, her colleague, her partner Don needs help. She wasn't going to let him go on like this, sleep deprived and suffering. After the initial shock of Tom's betrayal, even with the hurt of each passing day, aware that she might never have a family, the one thing she wanted the most… it was a different sort of pain to Don's; it gave her freedom and clarity as much as it scared her.

Don's torture wasn't over, it grew bitterer, more twisted every night and Liz truly feared it would swallow him whole.

She doesn't want to think about how fierce her protection was last night, how acutely she wanted him to stop screaming, the way she exhaled when he woke, exhaled with relief and pity and exhaustion, how her heart stopped when he pulled her closer… how it would feel if he came back and got in the van and only called her Keen from now on, only when he really had to, and gave her the cold shoulder for the rest of their time working together. She was tired and sick of going back and forth in her mind over what she wanted from Donald Ressler, and what was right and what was wrong and what was going to happen next.

For a moment, Liz admitted to herself that she missed her old life… not so much Tom, or her profiling career or any of the specifics but the way she used to feel: youthful and troubled but making something of herself, being happy, going forward. Now it was round and round, one Blacklister after another, each one a slap in the face to her personal life.

She finds another tin of fruit, just the one, and opens it. It's not perfect, but at least it's not pancakes.

"You'd better save some of that crap for me, Liz." A distant voice calls out to her, from behind.

She whirls around.

"Don?"

Hobbling towards her from afar was a still-shirtless Ressler. She picks herself up, walking quickly towards him, breaking into a run.

'D...' She hesitates, not sure where she stood with him, 'Ressler- are you hurt?'

He limps forward a bit, 'Just a sprain. But I've walked on it about three miles now.'

He stops suddenly to lean against a tree for support, causing Liz to almost collide with him. She brakes just in time but finds herself closer to him than she'd planned. There's a moment of silence between them, as he looks down through his lashes at her.

She smiles despite herself. 'There was no way you were coming back injury-free, was there?' in the cold light of day, it's blindingly obvious _how_ bare he was… she struggles to pose the question; 'Do you, uh… do you want a hand?'

He shrugs, staring out ahead, 'Please.' His expression is stoic as he tries to remain dignified, difficult as Keen slings his arm over his shoulder and they both start to walk, matching paces.

As soon as they're back at the van, and he's safely on the ground with a can of tinned peaches in hand, Ressler clears his throat… 'Liz, my- uh, shirt?'

She nods quickly, 'Yeah! No, of course. Here you go.'

She hands him his shirt, folded like he left it and he puts it on, handling the buttons deftly.

'Jesus, your ankle's swollen!' Liz sits down, a noticeable distance from him -scared to cross a line that could be anywhere.

He gives a short sigh, a quick smile. 'Yeah, I feel like a right idiot. They'll all get a good laugh at this when we get back to the office.'

She nods, muttering 'Don't forget your forehead.'

As she walks past him to gather the litter from their meals, he catches her by the arm.

'Liz,' his tone indicates a change in the mood of the conversation. Instinctively, she kneels down beside him.

'Look Liz, I'm sorry about what I said to you last night-' he starts.

She shakes her head, refusing this. 'No, Don, I was out of line. It wasn't helpful.'

'But you were _trying_ to help.' He looks at her sincerely 'and that _was_ helpful. Once I came to my senses.'

'That wasn't the first time, was it?' She asks quietly, studying him.

He takes a breath. Shakes his head. 'No.'

'Every night?' She goes on tentatively.

'Every night.'

'I'm worried about you Don. That wasn't you, when you were dreaming'

'But what if it is?' He counters, words tumbling out in his low, angst-ridden tone. 'What if that's who I am from now on… haunted by Audrey. What if I don't ever move on from this, Liz?' And there's a slight tremble in his voice that he fights out. But it's there… he believes this, he's scared.

'You will.' She says with resolution.

'I don't even think I want to.' He admits. This whole thing would be easier with beer.

'Eventually, you will.'

'Maybe for most people.' he looks down at his hands, and then back at her with a rueful smile. 'But, I don't have all that much of a life, Liz. I come home from work, I drink beer and I avoid sleeping. It's nice to have her to keep me company.'

She can't think of anything to say, so instead focuses on not tearing up. That's not going to do anyone any good.

He reflects on this, and gives a singular mirthless laugh. 'I sound like a madman.'

She shakes her head, listening so purposefully.

A few moments pass and they both stare at the ground, the air still not quite clear between them.

He clears his throat, embarrassed. 'I'm not just sorry about what I said.' His eyes slide from hers momentarily and drop to the place where he'd kissed her.

'I… didn't mind.' She says, slowly.

Then crashes her head into her hands.

'I, ugh- I didn't mean it like that. It wasn't supposed to sound that way.'

She takes her hand away from her eyes, feeling utterly idiotic. 'I can't believe I-'

He hesitates, not sure what he's about to say, trying to delay himself to make it sound better before actually speaking.

'It's fine.' He looks at her. Directly at her. 'I know things aren't… as black and white as they used to be. It's gotten more complicated.'

She stops short of saying anything, hoping he'll keep talking so she won't have to. She wouldn't have a clue what to say.

'I don't have the energy to work it out, Liz. So can we just leave it at that? Not question it?'

'Go on as we are.' She surmises for him, nodding. 'That sounds good to me.'

'We could both use each other's help.' He adds, smiling weakly. 'We're both as screwed up as each other.'

Liz smiles her agreement, and moves to get up.

'But, Don?' she frowns, forgetting something, and relaxes back into the ground.

'What are you going to do about these dreams? They're draining you.'

He shrugs. He avoided worries about the night as much as possible during the day, to avoid completely losing his mind.

'I'm not going to see anyone. My psych evaluation for work was enough fun.' He tells her stubbornly.

Liz is undeterred. 'Well, what else would you suggest? Sleeping pills?'

He gives her a look, 'You don't think I tried that?'

She sighs. 'Stronger ones?'

'That would involve seeing someone.' He shakes his head, strongly against the whole idea.

'How about a compromise.' He can see the idea cross Liz's face, lighting it up. 'You don't just talk to _someone_. You talk to _me_.'

He raises an eyebrow. 'With all due respect Liz, I don't think you're qualified, I mean you're a profiler, a good one-'

She smiles. 'Not as a shrink, Don. As a friend.'

He stops to listen.

'Just call me before you're about to go to bed and we can talk about something pointless, to take your mind off it. Or call me when you wake up at night and we can talk about it, about what happened, if you want.'

He's doubtful. 'You've got enough problems Liz.'

She adopts his rueful smile. 'Problems, sure. But better things to do at night? I'm fresh out of those.'

He lets the idea sit with him for a few moments, and then shrugs. 'Ok, why not.'

She smiles, before groaning a little. 'Just… no work stuff, ok?'

His eyes widen. 'Deal.'

-~-~-.-~-~-

Aram had no idea why he was needed for this.

In fact he did. With Ressler and Keen decommissioned for the day, no new Blacklister to deal with and him a pointless accompaniment on the trip to 'rescue' his partners, Cooper could just push back the paperwork from yesterday's Blacklister another day and spend some time with his family.

After what had happened to him, after what Berlin did, he couldn't blame him.

He just wished he'd come up with a better excuse for sending him. To take pictures? He doubted it required his level of technical ability to hover a camera over an engine and press a button. He leans back in his seat, taking a look at the GPS.

"Almost there." He nods at the driver.

-~-~-.-~-~-

Aram sincerely hoped he could put back the camera before Cooper noticed it was broken. How had he managed to drop it?

'How's that ankle coming along Agent Ressler?' He asks, twisting his neck to see into the back seat of the SUV. 'Ressler?'

There's no reply- he's sleeping, exhausted. His head rests upon Liz's, which in turn rests upon his shoulder, like building blocks. His arm is slung across her shoulders- protective, allowing her to lean on him.

If Aram hadn't dropped that _fucking_ camera, he could have taken a picture.

He felt a twinge of sadness, forgetting for a moment that Meera was dead, and he had no one to tell about this.

They look like little children, passed out in the car on the way home from a beach holiday, Ressler's lips parted open slightly, betraying an innocence, a vulnerability that Aram never knew existed.

He turns his head again, remembering his responsibilities as GPS-reader.

'Uh, that's a left.' He tells the driver matter-of-factly… and then stops, sheepish, '...two blocks ago.'

Behind him, Ressler's hand starts to tremble, fingers twitching with the beginnings of a nightmare.

Sleepily, Liz slides her hand into his, and he grasps it, his hand relaxing, still fast asleep.

Peaceful, happy, with something to hold on to.

-~-~-.-~-~-

_**The End**_

**_A/N: Due to many positive reviews (thanks everyone) I will consider making this part of a series of fics. I feel like this one has come to a natural end point but will think about doing a sequel, whenever I get an idea I think will do Keenler justice_**


End file.
